TO START THE CYCLE :
It’s only a siren’s song baby
Hey there Mr. Cthulhu
Got some toxic truth?
Squid Kings and Greek Fires
THE DORLEY CYCLE
The whiteness bleached and blended back to color, the pier reappearing engulfed in flame. The ringing in my ears though remained so as I was flung away from the blast, the burning heat pushing my body, I watched, deaf, how part of the pier collapsed into the sea, and how Ferris wheel caught fire. It was in an instant that I hit the water with a force that left me breathless and invited a mouthful of water inside my lungs.
I sunk along with floating pieces of coal-black wood, but I was alive.
Slowly my limbs came back to life, brushing the heaviness of the sea in a mad churn in search for up, but finding down, facing what I couldn’t see. I felt raindrops like bullets rain over me.
I swam frantically, kicking fiercely to push myself upwards and find the surface. Not long after my fingers dug into wet, hard sand, and I crawled into the very shallow, breathing in the salty water that clung to the whole of my body, biting into my open wounds. I vomited blood and water till I had those to vomit, feeling my stomach hurt and my guts shrunk in my belly. Then I just lay in it, cold as the water was, warm as the air was, harsh as the rain was.
Noises came and went around me, my eyes finding seizures of bright explosions swept away by black skies that expanded in bursts. I smelled the smoke and choked on it, fits of confusion and alarm overcoming me. After heartbeats, clearance came, having me hear sirens loud and clear and thunders dry and overhanging. I stood up, whiplashed by the rain that did nothing to stop the spreading disaster.
Dorley was burning.
I watched mesmerized the sight, admiring the aggression I had set free. I let ash stick to my face and I welcomed the heat of nearby fire, letting it dry me up. To my right ol’ Dorley was in flames too, puffing out the blackest of smokes and combusting in the brightest orange that reflected dark red in the water. At first I couldn’t tell where the fire had started but there was one place that could have ignited such a beautiful spark. I wondered who had set the fuel shacks on fire.
Kicking sand and half-running I tried to get myself back on the street. The fire had caught on the entire length of the pier and had spread, taken by the wind to the buildings across the street. The bottom of the hill was fiery speckled and I had no doubt it would soon spread further and climb up to the hotel.
The Ferris wheel protested, its lights popping out. The cables sizzled and snapped free from the arm of the wheel, flapping electrical tongues that transformed the air around into a sparkling net, charging the raindrops as they fell, absorbing. The wheel flickered and went dead, the leather seats shedding in lumps of stench down through burned holes.
People ran past me, frantic in their own try for rescue. I made my way through their ricocheting screams, tourists, reporters, desperate policemen, children crying for their parents, all black-faced and terrified. I didn’t care which of them were monsters.
I didn’t see Guy’s burned body anywhere near the pier. I didn’t see him limping away. I kept looking, almost tempted to call his name over the roar of everything else.
It had become Hell in less than fifteen minutes and no one knew where to go. No one, except those that amidst the chaos were different. I found them burning in the middle of the street, melting but still alive, their weak tentacle arms darting helplessly from their coal parched mouths as their bodies lurched into a mindless flee in and out the fire. I heard them screech, such a low and hurting noise that would exist otherwise only submerged, and I knew that what I saw in that dream of mine was true – it was weak, and it could be killed.
But then as I walked further, I also saw them hurrying in groups towards the beach over which the pier was collapsing and I followed.
I kept my distance from the path of falling things. Wannabe survivors made a run for the sea and shadowlike I moved with them, hunched in my mess of a figure. My group was making way down the coastline to the end of it where the largest of white stone sea cliffs stood rough shaped. I found footprints, quickly washed away by the ever-growing ill foamed waves and I stepped in them before they disappeared. Treading like this, towards whatever comes I kept thinking of miracles and weighted in my chances of winning right now, because it wasn’t over, that much was clear. Guy was not dead for sure, but he wasn’t human and he was a fast healer. He had lived here long before me, molding Dorley in his own liking. He wasn’t going to let go easily.
The sea-washed my feet. I half expected Eli’s body to wash at my feet and blame me. I was alone again, and that mesmerizing, powerful sensation of being in control evaporated. Realism hit hard; me, bare handed and broken, steamed by the fire, shaken by the cold, cold water, soaked to the very bones.
Soon the sand was gone and I had slippery stone under me. I curled my fingers for a grip somewhere on the slick rock that extended large into the sea. There was a man-sized arch cut into it and I carefully squeezed through it. On the other side there were small inner islands of sharp rocks that led to a piece of land, three steps carved into it which ran to the entrance of a cave.
I watched my way going there and then I stood on toes on the first step looking up into the gaping void feeling the cool breath of its insides.